Immortal Beloved
by Felony TeXas
Summary: A quasi-Mary-Sue fic, centering around a Romance and Elrohir, one of the twin Sons of Elrond. Please read and respond.


**READ ME:** Okay, this is a fan fiction, meaning I don't actually own most of what is being presented. This is an original story however, where as some of the characters are not. I use these characters with every ounce of respect afforded to the original author - J.R.R. Tolkien. Derowen however is my own creation, a character I used to role play on AOL. Not so much any more. I hope you enjoy the story.

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"You seem sad, brother." The voice was recognizable. And as the ship rocked gently in the waves and the shore grew further and further away from them, the other turned. 

They were identical. Their faces were unchanged by age, having yet to show lines of weary and strain. But they were not young. They were caught between the ages of wisdom and folly. Long strands of brown hair had been captured in tendrils of leather that wrapped tightly at the base of their matching skulls. And each with eyes as gray as the clouds the hung in the sky over head threatening a rain fall that would further create wave and excitement on the decks of an ancient ship. 

"Do you suppose she is watching?" Distantly he stared at the shore. Peering deeply at the abandoned sand that was slowly eaten away by the incoming tide. 

"No." 

He sighed. His own thoughts running about in his head. Dancing and interweaving with his future. 

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he felt the comforting touch of familiar fingers that were the same as his own. "She can not, brother. It would make he lust and made were she to see the sea and watch you leave the shores of Middle Earth." 

He was right of course. She could not glimpse the sea, or hear the ocean in the rocks and sand, for she would be drawn to it. And her business was not yet finished amongst the land of mortals. He was almost certain that his own was, that he and his brother were done with the land and would never feel the resentment and residual after affects of needing to return. All family was with them, and yet he seemed to feel the weight of the word sucking him beneath the waves. 

"Elrohir…" The familiar voice spoke to him. The hand still on his shoulder. "She will come when the time is right." 

"And if I have forgotten her?" 

"You have known her many years, Elrohir, and through out all of them you have called only her name in love and passion. Do you think such a thing possible?" 

"No, Elladan, I do not." 

"Then when she comes you will rejoice and hold her once more." 

He wanted to agree. To nod his head and find courage in the knowledge that some day would bring them together once more. He understood however, deep in his heart, where his soul mourned the loss of her, that it would be a lifetime before he touched her pale flesh again… 

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She had golden hair that held the hint of ash, as if a volcano had given birth to the mane she cultivated. Long strands that were braided thick as a rope down her back. Her eyes were blue, a strange blue that he thought of as often being the color of the sky, and ever changing in the same respect. She was elegant, with sharp features that gently chiseled out her face and brought her to life. Her hands were worn, hardened and callused with the span of time and hard work. She was younger, much younger then he was, but it never seemed to matter, her life had brought her to his age rapidly, and her body was waiting to catch up. 

Derowen had been her name. Given by a mortal father who had lost an immortal love in a strange death when the child was just an infant. She had told him once that it meant "Strong as Oak" in a tongue of man long forgotten by all that could have remembered it. He thought it strange to be so fitting. She was strong, a warrior with skills that rivaled any he'd ever known. She had been brought up amongst human society in such a fashion, a warrior with the ability to do things no mortal could accomplish. She had lived, breathed and thought as a human for years. 

He had watched her grow. From a distance he had seen her with his own father. Speaking with him in tones too harsh for true children to hear and understand. And it was as a child that he'd first met her, with her blue eyes that pierced his soul and left him devastated in their wake. 

She had come with her father, who was an aged man at this point. His posture losing stiffness as he struggled to keep himself aligned in a saddle of a sturdy bay mount. She had ridden beside him, half a youth and twice the mortal with reigns held tight on a colt. 

His breath had ceased in his lungs and he had found himself staring from the vantage of a marble over hang. The stone pillars rose up all around him and he leaned over the railing, watching as the blonde child and dark haired man approached Elrond, his father. It was his brother who made him move, made him step from his view and following arching stair cases down to greet the pair. His hands had shook, only so that none but her fingers could detect. 

His fingers slipped into hers to greet her, as he would have any other. But they quivered, they shook and trembled with fear that was fast approaching dangerous levels. It was dread that crept into him when she looked up from where their hands had joined knowledge in her round and exuberant eyes. 

"I do not bite." Her voice whispered to him from lips blooming on her face in petal pink. 

"Of course not." He responded, his eyes locked upon her own. He could not release her hand. He sensed her pulse, a heart beating as fast as his own through her flesh and into his. He wasn't certain if his heart bate to catch up, or hers. 

Time wasn't moving. He was fairly certain no one was there. He felt alone, suddenly separate and apart of everything in the same glorious breath. His brother, whose side he would walk along in honor and in battle, was missing. His father's voice was only a distant echo in the back of his mind. She was with him however, in this private place a world separated from the rest, she stood with him. Watching him with a reflected intensity. 

And it was over, too suddenly when she drew her hand back and let it fall to her side. He wanted to reach for it again, and stopped himself before he did. His fingers ached to feel hers again and he felt heat rise in his body, culling all sense of reason. It was the voice of Elladan, his brother and nearest soul that brought him back to his duties. She was lead away from him then, and he watched her go, pressured with a hand upon her back by the man who could not walk with grace and poise any longer. 

"I have found her, Elladan…" He spoke only to his brother. 

"Found who, Elrohir?" The other spoke. He was identical in look, but they were distinct of their own in the presence of only one another. 

"Her…"

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"Derowen don't!" His voice cried out and thunder lit the night sky with a flash in tandem of lighting. 

She turned. The rain came then, falling against her skin and bringing it to life in dewy moisture. Her hair was lose, the leather strap coming undone slowly in the strands and the short waves were falling forward as she stared at him. Her face was expectant, as if she understood there was more to the plea he was offering. 

"Don't go. Not alone. Let me ride with you." Because he could never convince her not to ride forth into a battle she was destined to lose. She rode along side or men, with her sword drawn many times through out her life. She would ride along side of men again, and he could nothing to stop that. Only he wished to not let her charge into death with sword raised and no one there to protect her. 

Her head shook, and his heart broke. "You cannot. You must ride with Elladan. The Sons of Elrond must ride together." Her voice was broken, gravel had laced it years ago in an injury that marked a faint scar along her flesh. 

His hand grabbed her arm. He pulled her back to him. Blinking as the rain touched his eyes and blurred his vision. He held her body, tightly woven into his arms and pressed against his form. She was strong in his arms, muscle taught beneath the flesh that curved further beneath layers of cloth that slowly changed in darkening with the rain fall. "Let me ride with you, instead. I will." He felt strange. Heated as his body was against hers, and yearning crept into him, the likes of that had haunted him since first seeing her face so far below in the streets of Rivendell. 

She breathed against him. Her breath was hot and struggled with the pressure of emotion. He leaned forward and let his lips sin from her what had been craved for too long. He tasted her and the salt and dirt that were upon her tiers. When it was broken, it was because she pulled away. He could have remained there till his own body lost its breath and passed away in a strange fashion. But she broke the seal he had created, and further pushed a rift between their hearts with her words. 

"Don't ever do that again." 

He released her. Staggering faintly in place, his body losing something, and life seemed to drain from him. He watched her go. She left him with out a glance over her shoulder. She mounted a squared stallion, with a deep barrel chest and delicately carved nose. The stallion carried her further away. 

The ground came up to greet him and he was stopped in mid fall by strange hands. Hands familiar as his own. He looked up, peering through the rain that streaked down to a face that held stains of mud and battle blood on features that mirrored his own. 

"I know, Brother." Elladan spoke, helping his twin to stand upon the weight of his own feet. His hands stroked at the moistened hair of his similar flesh. Allowing soothing gestures to compensate for what never had to be said between them. Gently he guided him towards a band of fellow soldiers, brave elves and men who were willing to lay down their lives for a cause that may never achieve full force. The battle for Middle Earth was beginning, and it would take a heavier toll then it would relieve by the time the war was finished, if it truly ever did finish. The Sons of Elrond were to ride forward and challenge Mordor to a duel of death. "We too must ride for our duty." 

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He was standing alone. Letting his thoughts gather around him and come at him one at a time. Slowly progressing towards an ultimate clarity. He cherished these precious moments, moments when he felt solitude, not as a weight of a thousand spears, but as a blessing. His hands were folded before him, pressed against his stomach as he stared into a pool of water that reflected back at him his own face. His fingers reached up and he touched a strand of his hair, tucking a braid behind a pointed ear. Heavily his features fell with the sigh he issued. His eyes closed, blocking their gray sights from the world for a moment. When he opened him another figure had joined him along side the pond. 

Her face was streaked and stained with mud. Her blond hair was lose and fell around her face as she stared at him through the soft ripples of the water. On her forehead glittering in the sun was the medallion of her Order. An organization of men and women, mortal in blood, who rode in high regards for the safety of Gondor and none other. She rode with them, her heritage shifting blood bearing her elven amongst man. She wore their mark proudly, tattooed against her spine and pressed in metal against her flesh of face. Her blue eyes stood stark even in the water he could tell their sky color was matching the heavens today. 

"There is much to be said, Elrohir Son of Elrond." She spoke. He noticed a twinge in her voice and a split in her lip where blood slowly leaked. She had not been resting long. 

"You have called me Elrohir for the length of time I have known you, why do you chose formalities now of all times, Derowen Daughter of Dacil?" He mocked her back again, throwing her full title against her own addressing of him. 

"Very well." She turned away from him. Her steps taking her a few paces away from the still water, to where over a small hill there was an encampment of weary, war torn soldiers catching wind and enjoying the sun that finally shown after days of rain. 

"No, Derowen, wait!" He turned calling after her with a hint of panic in his voice. He could let her walk away from him, not again. Not as she had been doing since they first met. Always leaving him behind to stand and gawk in her wake and mourn her disappearance. 

She paused and turned to face him. One brow had risen on her finely sculpted face. Arching to ask the unnecessary question. "Yes?" 

"Please, stay with me a while." He sensed his begging, and felt shame for it. It colored his cheeks but he kept his eyes upon her. He could not pull them away, she was a vision. The sun was rising fully over her shoulders and given her ash colored hair a new golden tone and highlight. He studied her while the light played with her features and momentarily made them appear soft, as if her resolve to be angry was melting away. "Just stay with me." 

She smiled. And his heart leapt full force into his chest. 

"We both know that's impossible." And she turned away from him again. Disappearing from his line of sight as he watched her with fading hopes. 

"Derowen!" He called to her. But she did not turn around, did not signal she even heard. He watched, and waited for the earth to shatter and swallow him hole. He waited for the sinking feeling to stop, to let his heart crash at the bottom of the canyon created inside of him. He felt ill, his stomach churning and he waited for it all to stop. 

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Three days they'd been waiting gathered together as a small band to reinforce their protection from out side forces. It was the third day that the sun rose and the horn blew loud to call soldiers to their bidding. He heard the call and knew it was not for him, but for her. His feet hit the ground hard as he ran, and his heart thundered inside of his head. 

She was there, waiting beside the elegant stallion she rode in to battle with out fear. The horse's head was raised and he was watching the world around him, as the fury of activity was reaching a climax. She seemed to be waiting for him, her body poised, standing dressed in gear that marked her more of the Order then any medal she could wear. A sword across her back, a dark cloak, and gloves over her fingers. There was a crest in the center of her chest, an enlarged version of the medallion on her forehead, held there by metal straps that curved around her body and held chain mail tight to her torso. 

He stopped short of coming too close to her. His gray eyes struggled to focus on just one part of her, and avoid the single part that would leave him paralyzed. Her eyes. But they were there, clear as always. The sun glinting on metal was pale in comparison and he was sucked deep into her gaze, staring at her with his chest heaving. 

She stepped into him, closing what minimal distance remained and reached her hands up. In a single motion she brought her lips to his, kissing him with the vigor he'd pressed upon her several days before, and felt rejected. She forced her tongue into his mouth and he returned the flavorful kiss. Feeling his body seep forward and draw her against him. He held tightly to her, clinging to her and allowing himself to be washed away, swept up in the fury that he felt seeping from her, pent up rage and desire leaked from between his lips into hers, feeding her own fiery shade of lust. 

When she pulled away it lacked the force of previous, the conviction of no. It was gradual, slow and it felt painful regardless. The agony of being separated from her took hold of him, and his knees became weak as he was forced to stand-alone once more. Breathing heavily he stared down at her, a distance that wasn't more then two or three inches. 

Something was pressed into his hand, it was cold and metallic. He looked up sharply and found the medallion on her forehead gone. His fingers were forced closed by her hand around the metal. He blinked, once and then again to clear his view, not sure he understood what he saw. There was a pale circle in the center of her forehead, where the metal had lain for so many years and was no removed. 

"I will be back for this." She whispered, her mouth hovering above his. 

They shared one last kiss, before she mounted and charged once more with comrades in arms and not in blood towards death and war. 

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"Where is she?" His voice seemed to echo from him, with a force he couldn't back up with his own emotion or strength. His knees were threatening to give out. And it was the constant support of his brother, who stood beside him as the news had traveled to their ears about what had happened. 

"She's been taken to Rohan and the—" The messenger was never given a chance, or breath to finish. The twin Sons of Elrond disappeared. 

Elladan traveled closely beside his brother. Strong legs keeping direct stride with a determined mirrored half. "She is alive." He spoke briefly as the broke into the air from the largest city of Gondor. "For that we should be thankful." 

Elrohir could not find it in himself to nod and agree. She had been badly hurt, and most of her people had died during the course of the struggle. There was still blood and dirt staining his face and clothes. He had not yet had a chance to clean himself, wash away the proverbial sins that were all over his body. He'd taken many lives, all the while praying to spirits and beings more powerful she would live through whatever she faced in the final waning hours of war. 

He didn't remember asking Elladan to ride with him, but he was thankful for the face of his brother as they forced the hooves of horses to thunder across the earth at speeds that would kill the beasts before long. He felt ache for the animals as they worked hard for their masters, but he could not spare much pity for the worry in his chest. She'd been hurt he'd been told, badly beaten and tortured in many respects. Nightmare images danced in his head of what had once been done to his mother, captured and tortured at the hands of evil. He was enraged by the thought, his blood boiled hot in his veins and forced him to drive the horse another notch faster then previous. He wanted the heads, the blood of those who would have tortured Derowen. Wanted them both in and upon his hands, but it was all over now. What little remained of what was would be eradicated as time drove further on, and he would have other things to worry about. Other things then war, peace would be a thankful chance of pace. But only if her injuries did not drive her to death's door. 

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He stepped into her room, past a guard that had been set to keep watch over her during the course of the night, while she had slept fitfully and healed gradually. His breath was drawn into his lungs sharply at the sight of her. She was poised near the window, standing with a cock in one hip and a bandage wrapped tightly around her thigh. It was visible through the lights that trickled in the window and passed through the thin fabric of her sleep wear. It was white and sheer, and draped over her body like a smock, not quite fitting her properly. 

"Derowen?" He spoke softly. The silence of the room seemed to require it. He glanced over his shoulder, he wanted to ask Elladan, who had traveled with him this far, to step out of the room so that he could have some privacy. He was pleased to see his brother had second-guessed him and already abandoned the space. 

She turned to face him. Her fragile face was bruised and beaten. Scars were forming beneath scabs that had formed on the flesh, showing up bright crimson and stained black with time. Her hair was down and it hung in strangled clumps against her face. Bruises had swollen one eye nearly shut. He could see where her hands had been bandaged, wrapped in filmy cotton to protect them from further blood loss and dirt seeping into the wounds. She breathed unevenly and balanced her weight only on one leg. One ear, which had previously been pointed, was cut so that the tip was missing entirely. It was wrapped as well, but he could tell the shape of it would never be the same. Her face wore a look that he thought of being almost frail, pained and weak. 

"What did they do to you?" The words came from his mouth as he approached her. His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly. Closing her against his chest and cradling her. He didn't kiss her, her lips were bruised and bloodied. He did not want to risk hurting her further. 

She pushed him back, using what little strength was available to look up at him. Her breath came out heavy and gasping, as if there was something caught in her throat as well as her lungs. "They died…" Her voice was ragged, and he felt the weight of her guilt in each syllable. 

"A lot of people died." He responded, reaching gently to tuck a strand of hair away from her face. As he drew it back he realized what it had covered, a gash that was open, seeping down her cheek. No blood poured from it, but it was there, breathing with each inflection of her mouth. His face twisted, the cringe going as far down his spine as to affect his posture. 

"It looks worse then it is." She spoke faintly. Her turn to reach for him, and she did. Curling her fingers in his mane of almond colored strands. His hair was soft, satiny to the touch and parted through her fingers like water. "How long have you known?" 

Her words came so close to his heart, he felt himself giving in. Surrendering to her, giving in to what she represented and how much he felt when he looked at her. He gave in to it knowing it wasn't permanent and never could be. 

"As long as you have. The moment our hands touched years ago I knew. You can feel it can't you?" He let his lips kiss her face, wherever the skin wasn't marred by horror. 

"I can't feel anything else when you are near." 

"It makes me…" His mouth kissed her neck. 

"… weak. I can't…" She shuddered, her fingers tightening his long hair. 

"…even breath. I've waited…" 

"…too long." She kissed him. Drawing him in with out regret. Pain seared through her body as it moved, as her mouth was pressed against his. It didn't matter. 

He held her tightly to him as he kissed her. Gradually his hands found their way against her body, down along her sides and traveling in long strokes to her thighs where the hem of her gown was gathered and drawn up to reveal nude skin. He took her for her kisses, and for everything else she had to offer. 

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"Come with me." He begged, leaning against her in the arched hallway. His mouth pressed against her forehead. Kissing it with tenderness. "Please…" 

"I can't. There is still so much I must do here." She protested, closing her eyes against his gentle caresses. 

"Derowen, I am begging you. Come with me to Valinor. We will be happy there." 

"Elrohir…please. Go. Don't ask me again, you know I can not." 

He'd asked a thousand times. And a thousand times she'd told him no. He wanted to marry her, he wanted to have children with her: to live forever with her. And she said no. He knew why, if he were to stay behind, to be with her forever would have mortal coil wrapped amongst it. If he went, if he sailed across the sea with his brother and his father, and the rest of his kin, he would indeed live forever. But it seemed an empty utopia, with out her there. He'd waited so long to have her, and it had been happiness since the ending of the War for the Ring. But suddenly it was all threatened. 

He looked at her, stared at her for a long moment. It was his brother's voice that drew him from the gaze he held. "Brother, we must go now." It was gentle, a prodding to encourage him to move along. 

Elrohir stared at Derowen and the question came to his lips. It was almost ready to break free and be formed as free thought when she shook her head. She protested before he could beg, plead, one last time to achieve her for the rest of time. 

He reached for her, one last time. His fingers grabbed her hand, and pressed against her palm. 

Time wasn't moving. He was fairly certain no one was there. He felt alone, suddenly separate and apart of everything in the same glorious breath. His brother, whose side he would walk along in honor and in battle, was missing. His father's voice was only a distant echo in the back of his mind. She was with him however, in this private place a world separated from the rest, she stood with him. Watching him with a reflected intensity. 

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"You seem sad, brother." The voice was recognizable. 


End file.
